


Do you trust me?

by Ethuilriel



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethuilriel/pseuds/Ethuilriel
Summary: Julian Devorak is spiraling into shame and regret. You, the apprentice, want to comfort him and convince him he's deserving of love. So, you...distract him (wink wink) from his dark thoughts by doing what you know he likes most: ordering him around in the bedroom.“Do you trust me?” you ask, fingers working through his tousled hair.“What?” He cranes his neck to look you in the eye. “Er, I—of course I do, my dear.”“Then trust that I know what I’m doing, with you. You didn’t ‘let things get out of hand between us.’ I chose you because I want you.”
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Reader, Julian Devorak/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 191





	Do you trust me?

“...and you? I certainly should have stopped you. I-I don’t deserve you! How in the devil did I let things get so damned out of hand between us? I should have—“

“Julian, come here.” You’ve already let him rant for a while, thinking perhaps it would drain the poison from him, but this is too far. “Please?”

With a sigh, he stops pacing and flops dramatically on the bed beside you.

“I’ll only drag you down with me, you see. That’s what—“

“Sit up.” He obliges, and you crawl behind him, drawing him back down gently so that his head rests on the pillow in your lap. 

“—that’s what I do,” he continues. “I drag people down into the muck and mire until there’s not a hope in—“

“Do you trust me?” you ask, fingers working through his tousled hair.

“What?” He cranes his neck to look you in the eye. “Er, I—of course I do, my dear.”

“Then trust that I know what I’m doing, with you. You didn’t ‘let things get out of hand between us.’ I chose you because I want you.”

“Oh my dear, my darling, I don’t deserve you. I’ve done terrible—“

“Shhh. Stop that. You don’t have to ‘deserve’ me. I care about you and I want you. And, you’ve told me you feel the same way. So it’s that simple. We have each other. We get to have each other.”

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing on his pale throat, then takes a deep breath and sighs. You try to smooth away the crease between his brows, but his expression is clouded with doubt.

“I know it’s easier said than done, but please don’t think these terrible things about yourself.” You study his face for a moment, and his eyes meet yours, shadowed with pain.

“What if,” you venture, “what if I...distract you?”

A faint smile passes across his lips. “You’re too good to me.”

You let yourself smirk a little. “Oh, I’m not going to be good.”

He laughs.

You bend over him and let your lips meet his, which part as he kisses you back. Afer a moment, you pull away and whisper suggestively against his ear, “Do you like when I...tell you what to do?”

His face reddens. “Er, I—“ His voice catches and he swallows hard, then continues, quietly, “I do. I do like it.”

“Would you like me to tell you what to do now?”

He hesitates. “Y-you don’t have to do that...ah...it’s, ah, it’s quite an appealing offer indeed but you don’t....you don’t...”

“Are you unconvinced that I have free will?” you say playfully, running your hands down his shoulders to rest on his chest. “I don’t have to do anything. But I’d like to, if you’d like me to?”

He sits up and turns to face you, but his eyes don’t meet yours. His whole face is pink now. “Well, uh, I suppose I’d be...amenable to the suggestion...” He glances up at your face then quickly back down.

“Then take off your boots and your gloves.”

He quickly complies, fumbling with the buckles of his boots in his haste. Giving orders like this had never really appealed to you, until you met Julian. At first, you simply noticed he was eager to please, asking what you wanted and how things felt. Then you noticed how his jaw went slack when you told him what to do before he asked, how his breath caught and his face flushed when you pushed him down onto the bed a little more forcefully than usual. The first time you asked him, a little hesitantly, “Julian, would you like it if I...gave you orders?” he could barely stutter out his eager “Y-y-yes.” You’d never been particularly dominant in the bedroom, but seeing him turn into a blushing, melting—and very hard—mess was a pleasure in itself.

You stand up languidly and look him up and down. “Take off your shirt.” When he goes to undo his trousers, you ask sternly “Did I say you could do that?”

He shakes his head.

“I did not. Now turn around.”

He turns his back to you and you start to undress slowly. When he glances over his shoulder, you cross your arms and glare. “Not until I say you can look.”

You have an idea. “Maybe I won’t let you look at all. Maybe I’ll blindfold you. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he whispers hoarsely.

“What was that? Speak up.”

“Y-yes,” he says, louder.

“Yes what?”

“Yes please. Please blindfold me.”

You reach up to wrap a handkerchief around his eyes, carefully avoiding catching any of his curls as you tie it. When you take your hands away he turns and reaches toward you.

“I didn’t say you could turn around.”

He snaps back into position. You finish undressing, taking your time, making him wait. Then you step around him and push him backward onto the bed. He reaches down to adjust his trousers around the bulge between his legs, and you smack his hand away (lightly; you’re still getting used to the idea of smacking any of him when all you want to do is kiss and caress him).

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself.”

“S-sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Now, tell me what you want. Beg me for it.”

“I-I,” he gasps, “I, ah, I want to taste you. Please. I-I-I need to.”

“Tell me how much you want it.” You trail your hands up his inner thighs, spreading his legs but stopping just before you reach the evidence of his arousal.

“Oh, so much. Oh, merciful heavens above I want to taste you. Please. Please, oh darling, please...” he trails off into a whimper.

You graze his straining trousers with a hand as you crawl over him. Straddling his face, you hold yourself just high enough that he can’t quite reach you, though he tries, then you lower yourself slowly to his level. He grasps your hips as his mouth ravenously explores your wet folds, small desperate moans escaping his throat. The tip of his tongue finds a spot that sends a bolt of pleasure up your body, and you gasp, “There. Stay there.” Eagerly, he obeys, repeating the movement until you feel ready to burst and quickly lift yourself away. He tries to follow you but you grasp the sides of his face and push him gently away. You have something else in mind.

“Maybe that’s enough,” you say, your voice an exaggerated sing-song to make it clear you’re only teasing. “Maybe I won’t even touch you. Maybe I won’t let you make me come.”

“N-no, please. Please,” he groans. “Oh, don’t leave me like this, my dear. I need you, I-I need to feel you, I-I-I...”

You rise from the bed and step away. He sits up, feeling for your absent form.

“Lie back down.” He does.

“Good, that’s very good. You’ve been very obedient. I think I’ll reward you.”

You slip your hands back up his inner thighs to his waistband, carefully avoiding the one place you know he wants you to touch him, then unfasten his trousers with exaggerated slowness. By the time you pull them off his legs, he’s gasping for breath. He cries out raggedly as you engulf him, grasping at your hips. You lean over his torso and reach forward to slide the blinfold from his face, leaving him blinking at the sudden brightness. His expression is almost one of pain as he stares at you intently. Gradually you start to move, sliding your hand down to touch yourself as you do. He throws his head back, groaning as his eyes flutter closed in ecstasy.

“Open your eyes,” you rasp, your throat suddenly dry. “I want you to watch me.”

He looks up at you, reverently slack-jawed.

“Tell me how it feels to be inside me.”

“Fuck, oh, you feel....oh...oh you feel divine. You, ah, you feel like...ohhhhh. You feel like ah, like water to a man dying of thirst. Like sunlight in springtime. Like hot, sweet silk. Ohhhh....”

He moans deep in his throat as you squeeze him rapidly with the contractions of your climax. You keep moving over him as you recover, catching your breath.

“Now,” you gasp. “Come for me.”

He grips your hips, desperately pumping himself underneath you. His thrusts grow erratic, and he throws his head back, a ragged cry escaping his throat as he finishes.

Later, when you’ve both cleaned up, he lies next to you with his head on your breast, breath even and eyes closed.

“Thank you,” he says.

You laugh. “Well, thank you too.”

“No, ah, I mean, well, that was absolutely a delight, but I meant—I meant earlier. You—well, thank you for what you said. About wanting—wanting to be with me. Choosing me.”

“It’s true.” You stroke his hair. “I want you. And if you can’t believe you’re worthy of that, believe me. Believe that I choose you because you are.”


End file.
